July 2, 2003
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Update: Neck much better. Still in S-formation, however. Thanks for the good wishes.
Part of the reason I go on road trips is to kick my mind out of it’s grooves. I’ve been back for a couple weeks, and I’m back in the grooves. It’s simultaneously reassuring and regretful.
I’m back into feeling as though I’ll never find a way to balance the grooves with the freedom. How much of my desire to be relevant to the world do I have to give up? I want to be out there working, in terms of job or activism or both, but the fear… Not just the fear of success or failure, but just the raw panicky fear of leaving the safe groove of my existence, atop the raw panicky fear of social navigation.
But the feeling is that I have to give up that challenge, because it’s just too much. I’m autistic; should I even believe that I’m capable of the things I want?
Yesterday I got sick of sitting around the house, so I popped an extra ibuprofen and went to get fish and chips (Spud’s, Juanita bay).
Here’s the conscious-mind version of what happened when I got there: Walked in, only customer. Got ‘the look’ from the gang of 18-19 year old kids behind the counter (I was wearing shorts, a bright orange t-shirt, the wool flannel shirt in my profile pic, and hiking boots, and I was bent up and unable to turn my head). One of them singled himself out to take my order. I ordered with as few words as possible. He took my money. I sat down and they all started talking about bad movies they’d seen. I waited for my food, largely by staring out the window at the passing traffic. Food came, ate it, left immediately.
Here’s the unconscious version of what happened: Encountered a terrifying group of exuberant young men who judged me immediately and would have ignored me except it was their job to serve me food. After giving my order and sitting down, I stared out the window to avoid accidental eye contact. They started talking about movies; I fought the urge to blurt about bad movies I had seen, even though bad movies used to be a prevarication, since it would lead to a Lead Balloon Scenario. Finally got the food, sat at the table eating, trying to digest, stomach in knots. Left quickly.
This is not an unusual scenario for me. Who fucking cares what the little boys think? Why should I? And yet I’m compelled to, because, by default, in my mind, I’m lower on the social heirarchy than college kids at a fish and chip joint.
It’s hard to think you can be at all valuable when you’re stuck there.
And I don’t want this to be all boo-hoo, Homer’s feeling sorry for himself. It’s more like Homer Hates God For Being A Motherfucker, But Must Try To Do Things Anyway. Job was a shill, a sucker, a mark. If Job were around here, I’d punch him in the belly for being a dumbass.
Faith and hope: The eternal burdens.
Comments (5)
Good analysis. I’ve felt uncomfortable around groups of strangers in a similar way. Hope you feel better soon.
feel better soon.
~ torri
Almost as much fun as being at a party, clearly. What is always worse for me is that the little boys don’t even see me, and couldn’t give less of a damn. But I take a deep breath (to continue to curse god in an undertone) and keep on walking anyway.
i find myself right there so often – interacting with people in a way i have manufactured for the purpose of avoiding facing my own ideas about myself and the social heirchy. many times i forget that the social heirchy is a consensus mechanism, and when i factor in the opinions of others, i tend to come out a little better than i had feared. im my own worst critic, if not worst enemy.
of course you’re capable of the things you want.
it just depends on what sort of effort you’re willing to take to get there.
what makes you think a social hierarchy exists? it’s all about how you choose to define yourself…….